


rare species

by winterbitch (WinterLadyy)



Series: big kitty jaskier [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Transformation, Cat Jaskier | Dandelion, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Guilt, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Self-Hatred, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, snow leopard jaskier actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25182382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterLadyy/pseuds/winterbitch
Summary: Almost 2 years after the moutain, Geralt is coping. He's fine. He's making great decisions like taking a contract on an ice troll at the start of winter, in the mountains. The hunt goes wrong and he finds himself dying in a ravine, covered in snow, cold and alone.And then, like an angel descenting from heaven, is the cat. A rare species of cat, a snow leopard that seems determined to keep Geralt alive, even against his own wishes. Geralt can do nothing but let him, and maybe talk - he was always better at talking to animals and he has many regrets to comb through.or i do uno reverse on the wolf geralt trope and make jaskier a big kitty after the moutain and geralt, ofc, doesn't realize. thats it
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: big kitty jaskier [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789966
Comments: 51
Kudos: 1251





	rare species

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt from [jaskicr](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com//) : 
> 
> _those fics with post-mountain geralt turns into a wolf and jaskier doesnt recognise him and confesses everything to him, but instead we have big cat jaskier who geralt just doesnt suspect bc who would’ve thought that this massive kitty is jaskier?_

As far as bad plans go, Geralt has to admit this one probably takes the cake. It’s just getting colder and he can smell the now coming but these people were desperate and he just couldn’t say no. Of course the coin they offered helped, he won’t need to stop for a contract before reaching Kaer Morhen if he manages to kill whatever seems to be killing those people. **  
**

He has a feeling it’s an ice troll and they’re not the easiest ones to deal with it but they can be reasoned with, and Geralt is hoping for that.

He doesn’t fancy spending a winter in this small village, where money and resources are sparse and there’s no job to do after this one is finished. He also maybe doesn’t want to die on that mountain but if it happens… He lived long enough.

Geralt’s not sure what’s been happening to him lately but since the dragon hunt, he’s been feeling weird. Like something is squeezing his heart, constricting more and more with each passing day and there’s no cure. Well, there probably is but Geralt doesn’t delude himself with thinking that Jaskier would want to listen or even see him.

Not that he can blame the bard, after what he said on the mountain and these last 20 years. Geralt knows he’s not the best at expressing his emotions but with Jaskierhe well and truly fucked up. He’s not even sure why he was such a bastard to the man. 

Or he knows but doesn’t want to admit it.

It’s been like that for the last 2 years, taking jobs and going to Kaer Morhen for the winter, trying not to think about how much he misses Jaskier and his bright smiles and gentle touches. Geralt’s hair is a knotted, matted mess now that there’s no one to take care of it and he has more scars than he should have. He often doesn’t feel like patching himself up, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

Whatever pain he caused Jaskier for those 22 years Geralt should feel too. That’s fair. An eye for an eye.

He’s really not sure why he’s climbing a mountain in the threshold of the winter, feeling icy wind mess up his hair. Of course, there’s the reward coin but Geralt can admit that there’s something else to that.

It’s that deep feeling of emptiness that’s settled in his chest, that guilt eating him up, the nightmares and silent campsites. Never before he felt like this. It’s as if he could disappear, die in some ditch, and he would be content with it. Maybe even happy.

For over a century Geralt’s been travelling the Continent, doing his job and somehow he always kept going but now he feels like he can’t anymore. He’s missing something important, losing it because of his own stupidity and it’s hard to keep going, knowing how different his life can be.

The hunt is a good idea. He will try to reason with the troll, convince him to venture deeper into the mountains, higher so that he won’t stumble upon humans, and he’ll go back to Roach and travel to Kaer Morhen. Simple as that.

Incoming winter makes the hunt more dangerous but Geralt is a Witcher and it’s his job to do dangerous things, to get rid of monsters and creatures as best as he can. This is just another contract, another job. He can do it.

Things change when he finally tracks the troll and sees him for the first time. He looks starved and half-mad already, ragged and scarred as if humans fought back. Geralt swears and silently downs the Cat, feeling the potion work through his system. Taking his silver sword and creeps closer and attacks.

He doesn’t expect the starved troll to be as fast as he is. Geralt gets thrown aside, hitting a rock hard, air getting knocked out of his chest. He growls and advances again, this time moving father, throwing Quinn at the troll, managing to roll down and slash at his legs. The creature roars, now properly enraged and then Geralt stops thinking, the potion and training taking over. Everything is happening fast, the troll’s skin is almost rock-hard, his giant arms long enough to knock Geralt around.

It’s by sheer luck that he manages to finally get a good grip on his sword and thrust it through the troll’s neck but with one last effort, the creature throws him away. Geralt only gets to see him take his last breath before he hits a rock and falls down the ravine. Everything goes black after that.

He wakes up so cold he can’t feel his body too much. Geralt’s world consists of pain and hunger, biting coldness. He can’t move too much, probably at least 3 ribs broken, as well as his right arm, twisted ankle probably. It’s too cold to tell.

With difficulty, Geralt manages to look around, vision hazy.

He’s in a deep pit, rocky walls covered in a thin layer of ice, some snow already laying on him. The air is getting colder, the storm is coming. He can faintly hear it in the distance and Geralt knows that once it hits, there’s no way he’s getting out of there alive.

It doesn’t bother him as much as it should. Dying alone seems fitting for a freak like him, forgotten and freezing. He’ll probably die of cold before he can starve to death and there’s something comforting in it.

“Jaskier,” he croaks through stiff lips, tongue heavy and awkward in his mouth.

It’s also fitting that his last thought would go to the bard that stuck by his side for 22 years. His only real friend probably, a too-brave human with a bright smile and brighter eyes. Geralt knows that if Jaskier was there, none of this would’ve happened.

The bard would make him stay behind, tell the villagers how to avoid the troll and promise to come back in the spring, as not to risk a dangerous hunt. And Geralt would probably listen because Jaskier can out stubborn him in almost every situation and Geralt may also like him a bit too much.

There’s no Jaskier here, however, and if gods are merciful he’s in some court for the winter, warm and well-fed, appreciated the way he deserves to be. The difference in their fates has never been more pronounced than now - Jaskier shining like a star on a banquet and Geralt dying in a ditch on a mountain in the winter.

Such is Destiny.

Geralt takes one hazy look around and then closes his eyes, tired beyond belief. He knows that if he falls asleep, he’ll never wake up. It’s okay. He lived long enough.

Time passes as Geralt drifts, getting colder and colder by a second when suddenly he hears something more. A heartbeat.

His eyes snap open and he looks up to the entrance to the pit, meeting a pair of blue, glowing eyes. Fuck.

It’s some sort of a big cat, kind of an off-white colour with darker spots, eyes trained on Geralt. The Witcher swallows, aware that he has no way of defending himself now. He has no idea where his sword is and even if he had it, everything hurts too much and he can’t feel his limbs. If the predator decides to kill him, that’s it.

They stare at each other for a long while, caught in some sort of a trance before the animal moves. Geralt watches in some sort of detached awe as it gracefully jumps down the almost vertical walls, long body moving smoothly, not slipping once.

It lands a few feet away from him, just breathing, and then gets closer slowly. Geralt’s heartbeat picks up a bit. It’s not the first time he’s staring death in the face but this is probably the final one. 

The cat’s small ears move and it makes a small chirrup, way more friendly than a wild animal should be. On the other hand, it’s possible that Geralt is just hallucinating from the cold and nothing is actually happening.

He stays still as the cat nudges his arm with its head, radiating heat. Geralt’s just about to tense when it lays down next to him, a wall of heat pressing against his side. He relaxes involuntarily, blessed warmth seeping into him. He sighs as the animal shifts carefully, as if avoiding his injuries and lays on top of him, tail wrapping around his legs. Geralt groans, eyes closing again.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

When Geralt wakes up, everything hurts. He’s no stranger to pain but somehow everything is worse than usual and it takes him a second to realize that it’s because the air is cold and he’s warm.

There’s a soft body curled around his, something fluffy brushing his legs, slow breaths practically noiseless. For a second, he’s not sure what the hell is going on but then memories return - the contract, the fight, the ravine, the big cat. He’s almost sure he’s dead now but Geralt always expected not to feel pain after dying. This feels uncomfortably real.

The animal behind him makes a small chirrup, soft and gentle but Geralt tenses anyway. The cat’s strong jaws are too close to his neck for comfort. On the other hand, it had the whole time he slept to kill and eat him so if he’s still alive, it probably wants something.

Or Geralt really did die and this is a weird afterlife situation. Maybe Witchers don’t get to rest, even after death.

“What?” he asks roughly, voice even deeper than usual. Talking hurts but even breathing hurts so what’s the difference.

Another chirrup is his answer and the warm body moves away. Geralt shifts against his own will and the hisses, when the pain hits. He gets a sharper chirrup for his trouble, almost a growl, and the cat moves even further away. They stare at each other for a second, the pale blue of its eyes clearly visible even in the darkness of the pit. Then, the animal glares at him, turns around and disappears in a tunnel.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters.

It seems like whatever held the cat’s fancy disappeared and now he’s left to die even slower death. The coldness and wet snow beneath him are getting to him and Geralt’s sure that he hit his head quite hard, getting thrown around like that in a fight. He’s not too far away from Kaer Morhen but he can’t even get up now, much less walk.

Time passes around him, coldness seeping back in but before he can fall asleep again, quiet steps appear. Geralt’s eyes snap open and he looks in shock as the animal drops something that looks like vegetables next to him. Once again, they stare at each other, before Geralt reaches out, grunting with effort.

He’s not sure what it is but it won’t kill him if it’s not highly concentrated poison and he needs any nutrition he can get. It also hurts to eat but Geralt keeps going. For some reason, the cat doesn’t want him to die and Geralt has never been good at disappointing animals.

He eats everything the animal brought him, his stomach settling down a bit. The cat is giving him a proud look, small ears standing tall. Geralt manages a small smile and sighs when the animal lays down next to him again, impossibly soft and warm. It’s still dark and Geralt is very tired, so it’s not hard to fall asleep again, warm and not starving.

The next time, he gets woken up. Geralt opens his bleary eyes and glares at the cat that’s currency making a small chuffing sound, nudging his uninjured arm. The glare doesn’t seem to be doing much so he sighs again and forces himself to focus.

“What do you want?” he asks, still tired.

The cat chuffs again, turning to face the tunnel and then look at him again. It repeats the same movements a few times until Geralt sighs again and tries to sit up. It hurts as if his rib is digging into his lung but then the animal is there, pushing its body under his arm, helping Geralt to stand up.

Once upright, it’s easier to catalogue his injuries. They’re not exactly life-threatening on their own but out here, in the mountains during winter they could prove to be fatal. It seems, however, as if the cat is determined to keep Geralt alive so all the Witcher can do is follow. He really must learn how to do that.

He limps awkwardly through the dark tunnel, the cat still pressed against his side, its fur impossibly soft under his fingers but Geralt can’t even focus on that because his world is growing dizzy again. That’s why it takes him so long to notice the air getting warmer, ice disappearing from the walls as they walk.

The source of the heat s soon obvious - a fairly large cave with natural hot springs, filling the air with steam. Geralt looks around, pausing in his steps. It’s a good spot to rest - plants are growing here, the air is warm, there’s even some soft sand, small trees that he’s not sure how are surviving. His senses are dulled so maybe there’s some Chaos here, it happens from time to time.

Geralt doesn’t get any more time to stand and wonder because the cat is pushing him towards what looks like a nest - a small hole in the soft ground, leaves and dry grass piled there. Geralt sighs and carefully lowers himself there. His ribs protest but he doesn’t think they’ll heal wrong. Besides, he’s had worse.

He’s getting really tired of sleeping all the time but his body desperately needs rest to heal itself and the warmth certainly helps. Still, the animal curls around Geralt’s back, its body almost impossibly long. It’s warm, the air is heavy with moisture and he has a real chance of survival now.

Waking up in the nest is pleasant. Soft under his back. His ribs hurt a lot less, his ankle doesn’t even smart anymore. His left arm is still out of commission but he didn’t dislocate the broken bones so it’s healing currently. The cat is sitting a few feet away from him, grooming its paws in the shimmering light of crystals hanging above them.

Geralt takes a good second to finally look around and orient himself. Now, with his senses sharp again he can hear the faint thrum of Chaos around them, probably causing the crystals to glow. The heat is natural but the plants grow here with an abundance of Chaos, causing them to be probably poisonous to humans but quite amazing to Witchers and other magical creatures. 

His saviour, the wild cat, is very fluffy. Geralt saw quite a few big cats in his life but this one is a first - he knows just how long its body can be, but now, curled up like that, it looks more like a circle of fur and an extremely long tail. Black spots on white fur mark it as some kind of leopard, probably evolved to live in cold climates, in the mountains. Big paws, long tail, short legs. Geralt has no doubt that it could kill him without even trying.

Yet, for some reason it’s tame. It keeps him warm, bright him food, led him to this cave. There’s no sense of Chaos from the cat specifically though, so maybe it’s just an abandoned familiar? Used to humans, more intelligent than a normal cat but not a shifter, not human.

Still. “Thank you,” he sais into the quiet cave. Pale blue eyes meet his and something passes between them, some understanding. “You saved me.”

The cat, which he should probably name, makes another chirrup and trots closer to him, before laying on his lap. Only now Geralt gets to appreciate its soft fur. Thick and long, it’s surprisingly smooth under his fingers. As he pets it, the animal starts to purr, relaxing under his hands. It’s nice. 

It’s been a long time since he touched someone who wasn’t Roach or a monster. Probably since Jaskier…

Geralt swallows and doesn’t think about it anymore. It’s been a long time, Jaskier shouldn’t still take over his mind, creeping up on his thoughts when Geralt least expects it. The bard is gone, chased off by Geralt’s cruel words. It took him maybe less than 4 hours to realize that he could’ve just told Jaskier that he needed some time to cool down. Or walked away. Jaskier may be an idiot but he’s surprisingly good at reading Geralt and the whole mountain scene was absolutely avoidable.

“I really fucked up that one, hm?” he asks no one in particular.

The cat looks up at him with a chirp, shifting in Geralt’s lap to look at him, soft belly on display. The Witcher just can’t help himself and buries his fingers in the fluffy fur. The animal doesn’t react in any way, aside from purring again so Geralt relaxes.

“I had one friend and then I went and fucked it up,” he mutters. Animals are such great listeners. “Unfair. And cruel. Too cruel, even for a Witcher.”

The cat for some reason seems sad as well, though it’s probably reacting to Geralt’s tone and the scent of his emotions. Not even a familiar can understand exactly what humans are saying but they’re intuitive and good with emotions. They have to be since sorcerers can be quite unstable while doing magic.

He said some of that to Roach already but it’s nice to tell the story to someone who doesn’t know Jaskier, who never met Geralt before. The animal only knows that Geralt is injured and needs help, probably partly trained by their sorcerer in case a spell goes wrong.

Sometimes, Geralt really is lucky.

Eventually, he decides to get up and take a look at his injuries. The cat (which he really should name) lets him get up without any issues and then noses at his hurt ankle, tail lashing behind it. Geralt undresses from his armour, the parts of it that survived the fight and the fall, and then groans when his left arm loses support. 

That makes the cat hiss, pupils shrinking.

“What?”

The animal hisses again and trots to the nearest tree. It’s dry and dead but the cat drags two roughly straight branches and drops it at Geralt’s feet, tail still swishing. They stare at each other, both glaring and stubborn but finally, Geralt relents and sits down to make a makeshift sling, immobilizing his arm with the branches.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” he asks the cat that fucking preens, chest puffing up. Geralt’s lips twitch as he fights a smile.

The animal inspects the sticks, warm nose brushing against Geralt’s skin, tail lashing behind him. The Witcher stays still even as the cat moves along, running to the small patch of grass and flowers and laying down there. He’s aware that some big cats can and should eat plants and well, this one lives in one of the harshest environments on earth, he’s sure it needs all it can get.

That train of thought ends when the cat returns with bright yellow flowers in its mouth. Geralt’s breathing catches and his eyes widen as the animal munches on dandelions.

“How…?”

He trails off and just stares. The cat is looking up at him with those bright blue eyes, so familiar and yet so strange at the same time, dandelions by its feet. He fucking hates dandelions, and the only flowers he hates more are buttercups for obvious reasons.

“I won’t call you Dandelion,” Geralt snaps at once, a growls rising in his throat. The cat’s eyes go wide as its pupils shrink and the animal gets lower, showing its teeth. They stare at each other like that for some time, before Geralt deflates.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

The cat drops down almost immediately, a deep sigh in its chest. Hesitantly, Geralt reaches out and lays a hand on the animal’s head, relaxing when a purr sounds in the air. 

“Bad topic. Those are...he likes those flowers a lot. Used to braid them into Roach’s mane and my hair sometimes. It’s…”

He’s not sure what else he can say so Geralt just falls silent, too absorbed in his memories to care for anything else. Dandelions remind him of Jaskier way too much and he’s not ready to think about the bard now. He never is but… His brush with death reminded Geralt too much how Jaskier took care of him and made sure things like these won’t happen. Reminded him too much of how Jaskier always tried to help Geralt, while the Witcher was too cowardly and thick to openly return the favour.

Hindsight really is 20/20.

He gets only a minute of brooding before the cat is pushing him towards the hot natural springs. Geralt snorts but allows it, glad to be torn from his admittedly depressing musings. He slips into the water carefully, his clothes left in a heap on the ground, his hurt arm held above. The water feels heavenly on his skin and he carefully dunks his head beneath, cutting off all exterior sounds, letting silence calm his head down.

“If Jaskier was there, he’d be all over himself trying to wash my hair,” Geralt says dryly, the memory tugging at his heart. He really can’t help but think about the bard. “He never could stand me being dirty for some reason.”

The cat lays down on the edge of the lake and chirrups again, eyes too intelligent. Geralt smiles and carefully washes the grime and dirt from his body, warming it fully. He stays like that for a while, head tilted to rest on the rocks behind him, taking in the silence. The cat starts gnawing on the white strands, then grooming them and Geralt chuckles. He doesn’t move from his spot until the animal stars nibbling on his shoulders.

“Such a pest,” he mumbles and then pauses. “Pest. Well, I have to name you something, hmm?”

The newly named Pest doesn’t look happy with his new name but doesn’t ague too much. It’s certainly better than Dandelion.

Geralt gets out and lets the air dry him, determined to stop thinking about Jaskier. His arm is already getting better, even without potions he always healed quickly, so he sits down in the nest again, only in his smallclothes.

Pest lays by his side for some time before sighing and getting up. Geralt looks at him and gets a lick to the face for his trouble before the cat trots deeper into the cave and then disappears completely. Geralt’s pretty sure he’ll be back, after taking care of him for what feels like at least 3 or 4 days.

He does return indeed with what looks like a small mountain goat, chest all puffed up. Geralt snickers and takes it from him. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. Thankfully, he still has one small dagger in the pile of his clothes, the same one he gave Jaskier almost 2 decades ago. The same one that was waiting for him with Roach when he walked down the mountain alone.

Geralt closes his eyes with a bitter smile. Pest makes a small sound so Geralt gets to work, more awkward with only one fully functioning arm.

“It’s my friend’s,” he explains. “Well, my ex-friend’s, I think. I told you I really fucked up. Now I can’t find him.”

Pest cocks his head to the side, watching patiently, eyes on him and not on the food. How curious.

“I tracked him to somewhere in the middle of Kovir but then he just seemed to disappear. I’m not sure if he’s...dead or just hiding from me. I hope it’s the second.”

The word ‘dead’ barely passes his lips, everything in Geralt rebelling against the idea. It’s easier to think that Jaskier just hates him and is avoiding him than to maybe acknowledge that the bard may be dead. Jaskier just can’t de. He didn’t die over 20 years travelling with a Witcher, he can’t be dead now.

Geralt falls silent afterwards and skins the food. The organs go for Pest who devours them quickly and surprisingly neatly and the rest goes over the small fire Geralt builds. There’s a limited amount of wood in the cave but thankfully it’s warm enough. He only really needs fire for cooking meat.

He eats the whole thing at once, stomach finally filling up after maybe 4 days of next to nothing and afterwards, Geralt lays back down, breathing deeply. Life is made of those small luxuries and Jaskier taught him how to appreciate them. It’s not an ideal situation but compared to what could’ve happened it’s amazing.

Granted, Geralt may actually be dead and experiencing some weird form of an afterlife filled with magical caves and helpful wildlife but he’ll take what he can get. This feels just like any other day of his - trying to survive a not-ideal situation and come out alive. He never met a friendly leopard but he also never saw a magical cave so that’s not saying much.

Before Jaskier, he never met someone so open and friendly towards him.

“Fuck!” Geralt shouts, spooking Pest a bit. Immediately he settles down and lays one hand on his head, petting between his ears. “Sorry,” he mutters. “He’s in every damn inch of my brain, no matter what I’m doing or thinking. Just always there. It’s exhausting.”

It’s exhausting because every thought brings forth the memory of Jaskier’s teary blue eyes and shattered voice on that mountain. And that always brings guilt and pain and realization that he had probably the best thing a Witcher can have and ruined it. Geralt really is tired of the relentless cycle of remembering the good times, followed by the crushing memory of the mountain and the guilt afterwards. 

Pest is the one who shakes him awake from his depressing thoughts by literally climbing into his lap and laying his head on Geralt’s shoulder. He’s not light by any means but he’s soft and fluffy, his long tail wrapping around Geralt’s hips in a loose embrace.

Too tired to question Pest’s actions Geralt just sighs and starts scratching his sides and shoulder blades, humming quietly. It’s a habit he got from Jaskier, as the bard took to his grunting when he was tired.

It’s nice, sitting like that in the quiet cave, Pest sleepy and soft in his lap, purring deeply. It may not be what Geralt imagined when he went for a hunt but it’s still quite nice. Geralt doesn’t really get to pet any cats, they tend to hiss at him, probably sensing the predator but Pest doesn’t seem to care at all if his soft weight in Geralt’s lap is anything to go by.

He reminds the Witcher of Jaskier, always so trusting and gentle with him, even while insulting him playfully. He truly didn’t realize how much he loved the bard’s company until it was gone for good. Winters in Kaer Morhen were always quieter than his months with Jaskier, but Geralt took that time to rest and centre himself, so he didn’t feel Jaskier’s absence that much. Now though… Now he feels it down to the very marrow of his bones.

That’s why he doesn’t get close to anyone - he feels too much. Or maybe he feels just like anyone else, he just doesn’t know how to deal with it. Both are equally possible.

Geralt closes his eyes and lays down, Pest sprawling on his chest. The cat’s body is long so he can cover all of Geralt like that, his tail flicking from time to time. It’s nice, to be close to someone else. He doesn’t sleep, just stays quiet, staring at the faintly glowing crystals above them.

He’s not sure how much time passes, without direct sunlight and changes in temperature but Pest hunts 3 more times, sometimes being gone for hours that Geralt spends meditating. His arm is healed fully now, his ribs completely fine. He patched what he could of his clothes and decides to look for his silver sword as soon as they’re out of the cave. The steel one is safe with Roach but a silver sword is expensive and he doesn’t have the coin for it now. It would probably take him a few weeks during summer to save enough to buy one so he wants to look for his own. The troll is dead for sure and Geralt can probably find his way back to the fighting ground.

“I need to leave,” he says finally after eating.

Pest looks at him with those big blue eyes and chirps. Geralt allows himself a soft smile, scratching behind the cat’s ear. He enjoyed the animal’s company and he owes Pest a lot. His life probably. He’d never take a wild animal away from its natural habitat but it’s still sad, parting from Pest.

He sends the cat another smile, finishing putting on his armour. It’s even more damaged than before but it shields him from some of the cold and that’s enough. He’s rested, fed and hydrated. Actually, Geralt feels better than he has since the mountain and a wild leopard is the cause of that. He’s not sure what that says about him.

“Thank you. Goodbye,” Geralt states and turns away to leave through the tunnel. He makes maybe 2 steps before Pest catches his shirt in his jaws and tugs him backwards. “Hey!”

Pest almost rolls his eyes if an animal could do that, before carefully catching Geralt’s hand in his jaws and tugging him in the other direction. Geralt sighs but follows. He has no reason not to trust the cat and he was the one who actually got out to hunt.

It takes them maybe a few minutes for Geralt to start feeling the fresh, cold air. He smirks and follows Pest outside. They’re standing on a cliffside, almost vertical wall behind them but Geralt can see enough rocks sticking out to make his way up or down.

He moves forwards and Pest follows. He smiles softly and allows the cat to go first. It’s safer to follow an animal that’s made to walk those walls and it’s also nice to see how Pest jumps around. He’s such a silly cat when they’re cuddling but out there, he’s a capable hunter, his big paws easily finding grip. Every few minutes Pest pauses and waits for Geralt to catch up until they’re approaching a more horizontal ground.

The cat follows him even when Geralt moves away from the cave, catching the faint scent of the ice troll. He’s not sure why Pest is following him now, as he’s moving away from his territory but well, if he was a familiar, it’s not so strange that he now looks for human contact. Doesn’t matter that Geralt isn’t human apparently.

He doesn’t say anything as they climb back to the place the battle took place. Pest looks around, interested, not even growing at the corpse of the troll, more interested than anything as Geralt grabs his sword. He hisses at the coldness of the silver in his hand but the weight is familiar and he’s glad he found it. He also hacks off the troll’s tongue, not really looking forward to hauling the entire head for proof of the hunt.

“Well, now we part, cat,” Geralt says then, turning to Pest. He has to admit that he...got used to the animal, to his soft fur and long tail and intelligent eyes, but wild animals belong in the wild and Geralt isn’t the best at taking care of things. Or people.

Especially people.

Pest just regards him with big blue eyes before turning around and walking in the direction of the village. The Witcher huffs but follows, more than used to stubborn people in his life. And stubborn animals.

“You should stay,” he tries again, stupidly, as if Pest can understand him.

The cat doesn’t even turn to look at Geralt, continuing his descent in a much more graceful manner than the Witcher. He slips a few times but Pest is always there, sliding in the last minute to prop Geralt up or make sure he doesn’t slip.

Now, Geralt is sure that the cat used to be a familiar. He’s used to helping a person, reacts to emotions and isn’t aggressive. It’s not common for a sorcerer to abandon their familiar but it’s not impossible that they simply died, leaving Pest to fend for himself. Geralt is just glad for those animal instincts that undoubtedly kept Pest alive.

“You have to stay,” Geralt says firmly once they reach the village. People here are familiar with wild animals and he’s not looking forward to getting them attacked, and having to protect Pest. He would but he’d like to get paid and be on his way. 

Pest looks at him defiantly for a few seconds before deflating. His ears drop down and he brushes against Geralt’s legs, tail flicking in the air. The Witcher smiles and they part.

He’s not sure if Pest will follow him away from the village, this seems to be his territory but he can always hope. Deep inside, of course. 

Geralt takes the tongue to the blacksmith who contracted him and gets his payment. He spends a bit of coin for provisions, pays for Roach’s stable and then slowly rides out of the village, heading to Kaer Morhen. He’s not sure what he’s expecting but Pest is sitting right by the crossroad, ears standing tall, chirping at the sight of Geralt.

Surprisingly, Roach doesn’t react negatively at all. She lets Pest come close, nuzzle against her legs, neighs and that’s it.

“Hmm.”

That’s unexpected but overall good. Pest seems determined to follow him so it’s good that he gets on with Roach.

Not much changes as they travel. Pest hunts while Geralt sets up the campo and then the cat curls up on his chest, for warmth and companionship. They travel fast, neither needing much rest and soon enough they’re climbing the direct path to Kaer Morhen.

Pest seems excited at the sight of the keep, dancing around them, chirping and jumping. Geralt smiles and rides on, feeling the cold deep in his bones. Pest may be made for the cold but Witchers aren’t. They endure but they feel the temperature.

Geralt sighs when the doors of Kaer Morhen finally close behind them. The keep is as haunting as ever but it’s the only home Geralt knows. Well, the only home he has left. After he screamed his only friend away.

The Witcher clenches his fists and raises his head high, refusing to drown in guilt again. Pest bruises against his leg as if reminding Geralt not to lose track of here and now. There’ll always be more time for wallowing in his guilt and remembering days long past.

“Geralt!” he hears coming from inside the keep, and he allows himself a tiny smile when Lambert comes crashing down at him.

They tumble to the ground, wrestling and growling at each other and Pest takes it as his cue to join the fun, jumping on them. Lambert almost reaches for his dagger, but Geralt just tries to pin Pest down and they’re off again, now hindered by 4 more limbs and a long tail. Finally, Geralt manages to pin his younger brother down, and Pest manages to pin him down, purring a storm. He huffs and throws the cat off, then helps Lambert to his feet.

“You’re late,” Lambert notices but he’s openly staring at Pest, head cocked to the side.

“I was delayed,” Geralt grunts, and he swears he can see Pest rolling his eyes. “Hunt gone wrong.”

“And you made a friend?” Eskel asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Geralt rolls his eyes and tugs his brother into a hug, sinking into it for a second, taking strength from him. His older (barely) brother has always been a source of stability for him and he needs it desperately now. 

Pest comes after him, chirping at Eskel and rubbing against his legs. Eskel hums, bending down to pet him but Geralt can see something calculating in his eyes. He throws his brother a questioning look but Eskel just shakes his head. Not yet, apparently.

“This is Pest,” Geralt finally introduces his new friend to Vesemir who appeared a while ago. The cat damn near preens as the Witchers admire him, before plopping down on his rear in front of Vesemir, staring up at him.

They stay like that for a while, but Vesemir finally shakes his head with a shadow of a smile. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” he says and motions for them to follow him.

Geralt takes a second to take care of Roach and gather his supplies, before following his family back to the keep. Food is already waiting for him there, Pest sat on the floor with a bowl of what looks like cut-offs, looking quite happy with himself. Eskel is still staring at the animal, and Geralt isn’t sure what it’s about. He never felt anything very strange from Pest but Eskel is much more magically inclined than him, so he may never know.

“A curious friend you have here,” Eskel notices.

Geralt grunts. He’s not sure what to say and he doesn’t particularly share what happened, least Vesemir will make him run laps around Kaer Morhen until he falls from exhaustion. His brothers let him keep his secrets until Vesemir goes back to his study. Apparently, he found some rare weed last week and hasn’t really left its side for a few days. Vesemir can be weird like that.

“Spill,” Lambert demands once the oldest Witcher is gone.

Geralt sighs and Pest perks up, jumping on the bench to curl against Geralt, blue eyes closed. Geralt catches Eskel’s thoughtful gaze but doesn’t ask yet.

“The contract was for an ice troll…” he starts, already wincing at what his brothers will say.

By the end of the story, Lambert is laughing so hard he almost falls from the bench and Eskel is glaring at him. Geralt just sips his ale, well aware of how stupid and reckless he’s been. He also knows that they’re aware of why exactly he was so stupid.

“He wouldn’t want you to kill yourself,” Eskel says finally, once Lambert falls silent.

Geralt glares at him more, but his brother is unmoved. They may not talk about feelings much but Geralt knows his brothers care about him and don’t want him dead. 

“You don’t even know him,” he counters sharply but Eskel isn’t deterred. He’s the most patient and gentle of them all.

“You told me enough about him,” Eskel insists. “He wouldn’t want you to get hurt. He didn’t like violence, did he?”

Geralt thinks back to all the tavern fights Jaskier started, to the dagger red with the blood of the bandits that attacked him, to one of his swords sticking out of the kikimora that almost overwhelmed him, Jaskier panting next to him.

He also thinks about Jaskier gentle hands on his skin, the neat stitches and soothing salves. About Jaskier’s warm body pressed against Geralt’s back as the bard cleaned and braided his hair. About the flowers in Roach’s mane, slow songs when Geralt couldn’t sleep.

“He didn’t,” Geralt says, not adding that it’s violence against him that Jaskier didn’t like.

“Be careful next time,” is all Eskel says and that’s the end of it. Lambert will tease him about it the whole winter but it’s not the worst situation Geralt has ever got himself into and the younger Witcher will lose interest fast.

“Now, for your new friend…”

Geralt’s eyes snap to Eskel and even Lambert straightens. They stare at the other Witcher in silence, Pest still seemingly sleeping, his head on Geralt’s thigh.

“I don’t think he’s just a wild animal,” Eskel explains finally. “There’s Chaos in him, around him. Doesn’t seem natural.”

Agioan, Geralt hasn’t felt anything special but it’s Eskel forte, more intricate knowledge of Chaos.

“I think he was a familiar,” he offers, looking down at Pest fondly. He really got used to the kind, wild soul.

“If that’s the case he would flock to Eskel,” Vesemir says suddenly, appearing in the door. Geralt glances at him. “Familiars are notorious for looking for the most magically powerful person around. If their sorcerer dies, they look for other mages or even elves who use Chaos, and so on. You’re strong Geralt, but Eskel has you beat when it comes to Signs and Chaos as a whole.”

Geralt frowns. He didn’t know that about familiars but Pest stayed firmly by his side the whole evening. He wasn’t hostile towards Eskel but he also didn’t seek the other Witcher out.

“A monster?” Geralt asks, though he doesn’t believe it. His medallion was silent even when Pest was sprawled on his lap.

Vesemir shakes his head, confirming that. The old Witcher crouches next to Pest and the cat raises his head. Once again, they stare at each other but it doesn’t seem too out of place. Cats sometimes focus on people or other things, that’s how predators work.

“A cursed human?” Vesemir asks slowly but Pest doesn’t react. His ear twitches and his tail is moving but he doesn’t visibly react to Vesemir’s words. Geralt lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The older Witcher sighs and stands up but Eskel still looks suspicious. Geralt watches as he leaves, muttering something about the library but doesn’t follow. It’s late, he’s full and warm. It’s a good time to sleep. Vesemir will wake them up bright and early, there’s always something to do in the keep.

Geralt says his goodbyes and they leave, Pest dutifully trailing behind him, pausing from time to time to sniff at things or explore an empty room. Geralt allows it, leading the cat up the stairs into his room. It’s fairly big and the hearth is already warm, someone has made sure his room is warm. Geralt smiles and undresses, reaching for a basin and a towel. He doesn’t want to go to the springs yet.

Pest explores the room as he washes himself, before dragging a few blankets to the bed. Geralt watches, amused, as the animal makes a nest there, blankets and furs held together, a few more thrown overtop. It’s big enough for Geralt to fit as well and once Pest lays down, he starts making sounds that Geralt now knows mean hurry up.

The Witcher smirks but finally sinks down on the bed, groaning at the softness. Pest is a wall of warmth pressed against his side, purring deep in his throat. Geralt covers himself with a few more blankets and buries his hands in Pest’s fur, petting until he falls asleep.

The next morning Pest is already gone but Geralt finds him in the kitchen, trying to trip Lambert as Vesemir watches. The breakfast is over quickly and they’re off to do some repairs, chop the wood, maybe even hunt. Eskel has his own cleaning to do but whenever Geralt finds him, he has a focused look on his face and his eyes look far away. He doesn’t like how Eskel keeps glancing at Pest, but he also doesn’t want to ask yet.

Pest keeps them company or climbs the walls, preening when Lambert drops a hammer seeing him scale a vertical wall. Sometimes he comes back with blood and feathers on his muzzle, sometimes he comes back wet from melted snow, but he always comes back to Geralt.

“I think I know what happened to him,” Eskel finally reveals as they’re eating dinner. “Not sure yet, but I think I found the right book.”

Vesemir looks at him in interest but magic is Eskel’s thing and the Witcher will ask for help if he needs it. Geralt isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that his new friend may not be a friend. Or even an animal. He likes Pest, likes his softy fur and lack of judgement and even falling asleep cuddled up to him. It will hurt, losing it.

Still, this is a Witcher’s life. It’s always like that. Geralt should be used to it.

“Good,” he finally answers roughly and doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal.

The other Witchers exchange looks but Geralt doesn’t care right now. He stands up without a word and goes to the springs, gratified when Pest follows him. He’s still silent as he sinks down into the water, but once the cat jumps in, he can’t stop himself.

“I will...miss you, when you’re gone,” Geralt admits. It’s always easier to talk to animals, and even if Pest isn’t really an animal he still looks like one. “You’re a good friend.”

Pest makes a small sound and presses closer to Geralt, wet fur and all. The Witcher smiles, a small sad thing, and starts to clean him. He’s not sure if it’s normal for a snow leopard to like water but it may be - he knows there are big cats that spend a lot of time in the water. It may as well be a human thing but he doesn’t care right now.

He falls asleep with Pest curled on his chest, warm and comfortable in the nest and even Geralt’s worry doesn’t stop him from sleeping. He doesn’t get much sleep, however, as Eskel’s shout wakes him up not long after.

“Geralt! Get in here!”

In a flash, Geralt is on his feet, a sword in his hand as he runs barefoot and shirtless, almost tumbling down the stairs. There’s no danger, just Eskel and Vesemir standing over Pest who for some reason looks overjoyed, almost dancing in place.

“What?” he grunts, putting his sword down.

Eskel drops to his knees next to Pest and then looks at Geralt with a wide smile. “I figured out the curse,” he says eagerly. “Say hello to Jaskier the bard.”

“Jaskier?” he almost whispers, eyes going wide, shock flooding his system. Everything he said to Pest who is actually Jaskier, his deepest secrets and thoughts…

Geralt takes a step back and prepares to turn around and run, when Pe-Jaskier shoots from his place and jumps on him. Geralt catches him on instinct and then just holds him close when Jaskier wraps his tail around his waist, purring deep and frantic.

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeats, this time into Jaskier’s fur, hugging him close.

They stand like that, pressed close together, Jaskier purring and Geralt trying to process.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. It’s all he can say, though words are bursting at the seams of him, stuck inside and so so important.

Jaskier makes another chirrup and licks the side of his face, making Geralt grunt. He knows non-verbal forgiveness when he sees it. Very slowly, he sets Jaskier down and they stare at each other. Now there's intelligence in Jaskier’s eyes, the human kind, the one that wasn’t there before. He’s not sure what changed but looking at the cat now, it’s obvious there’s a human being inside.

“What happened?”

“We’re trying to figure it out,” Vesemir answers motioning towards Eskel.

His brother is slowly drawing letters on the floor, finishing the alphabet already. Geralt’s eyes go wide with realization and Jaskier makes a happy sound. Eskel adds “yes” and “no” at the bottom and for now, it’ll have to do.

“Jaskier, if you will?” Vesemir asks.

His bard nods, and oh how weird it looks on a wild animal, and steps on the letters. Very slowly he starts moving and tapping on different letters.

“You were cursed,” Geralt states and Jaskier nods. “When?”

Jaskier makes two taps.

“Two weeks?” A shake of head. “Months?” Another no. Fuck. “Years?”

A nod. 

Geralt closes his eyes. Two years his friend has been stuck as an animal while Geralt was trying to ignore his existence. He takes a deep breath and focuses again.

“Was it a sorceress?” A nod. “What did you do to her?”

Jaskier makes an irritated sound and steps on “no” then adds “me” to that.

“Not you?” Geralt asks. Jaskier nods. “You weren’t the target?” A nod. 

Slowly, Jaskier spells ‘niece’ on the floor. The Witchers look at each other, confused but then Geralt realizes what happened. It makes sense, of course.

“You went to visit your sister in Talgar, for your niece’s birthday,” Geralt states, getting 3 confused looks in return. “I listened when you talked,” he says quietly to Jaskier.

The cat looks down sheepishly before chirping at him again. Geralt smiles at his friend.

“Was your niece the target?” Vesemir is the one who asks this time. Jaskier nods.

“But she was...2 when you went,” Geralt notices. Jaskier sighs and makes sure they’re paying attention before slowly spelling what happened. Geralt translates. “A witch jealous that your sister married the lord she was in love with. She tried to curse their child but you jumped in front of the spell.”

Jaskier nods again and sits down, tail curling around his legs. Geralt sighs and sits down on the cold ground, patting his lap. Jaskier is there in a flash, climbing all over him, accompanied by Lambert’s laughter. He’s not sure when did the youngest Witcher get there, but of course he would laugh at them.

“When the bard is back to the human form we’ll have ballads about this moment,” Lambert cackles. 

Jaskier perks up but then looks down at his paws and deflates again. Geralt hates to see him like that.

“Do you know the curse’s rules?” he asks and Jaskier shakes his head. “You don’t remember? Oh, you didn’t hear what she said.”

Jaskier nods, before dropping his head on Geralt’s shoulder as Vesemir and Eskel look at them in pity.

“The only way to break a curse is to meet the demands. No other sorcerer can break it, it’s not a normal spell. You really need to just...meet the demands,” Eskel says apologetically.

Jaskier and Geralt both sigh. If Jaskier doesn’t know what the sorceress said, the chances of breaking the curses aren’t high.

“It’s a very specific curse anyway,” his brother continues. “The cursed person can’t give any signs that they aren’t what they appear, someone needs to ask them by name if they are a human and only then can they actually talk or give other signs. A very specific and cruel one, hard to find. An old one.”

With every word, Jaskier’s ears get lower so Geralt gets up and brings Jaskier with him. “Thank you,” he says quietly to his family. “But we’ll get back to sleep.”

No one says anything as they leave, Jaskier still cradled in Geralt’s arms like a baby. His bard is quiet now, even for his normal standards as a cat, and Geralt aches inside, knowing there may not be a way to fix this mess.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, once they’re alone. “It’s my fault.”

Jaskier makes a sound again, before jumping on him to topple them both on the bed. Geralt can see the question in his eyes.

“If I hadn’t been an asshole I would be with you during that birthday and it never would’ve happened.”

This time Jaskier really does roll his eyes. He starts purring, after swatting Geralt in the face and the Witcher can’t help but laugh. He can imagine what Jaskier would say if he could and he knows that the bard doesn’t want him blaming himself. It’s hard but… he’ll try. For Jaskier.

Geralt looks up at his friend, raising one hand to pet between the silky ears. “I really am sorry for the mountain,” he says quietly. Jaskier stills but doesn’t move away from him. “I was angry and I used you as a target for that anger. It was wrong of me, you were my only true friend and I...treated you badly. I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure what he expects but Jaskier starts purring and nuzzles his neck. He can’t speak but his actions are clear - Jaskier, for some reason, forgives him. Just like that. Geralt doesn’t deserve it but it’s Jaskier’s to give freely. All he can do is accept it.

“Thank you,” he says quietly into the dark room.

They get up when the sun is already high in the sky, both tired from the exciting news of the night. Jaskier still sticks to him like glue but as Geralt does his chores, he can see Jaskier talking with Lambert, tapping on the letters on the floor. Sometimes even Vesemir pesters him for details but Geralt doesn’t have any more questions. It’s clear that it’s still Jaskier in there, with his memories and personality, he’s not worried. Jaskier spent 2 years like this, if he was to lose himself, it would’ve happened already. They’re safe here.

Weeks pass and nothing changes. Geralt still aches every morning when he wakes up to a leopard Jaskier and not a human one, but they’re all getting used to it. Jaskier is brave in that regard, not letting his lack of human form stifle him. He uses his current form to its limits, jumping around and hunting, chasing birds on the walls of Kaer Morhen. Geralt misses his singing, misses it more than he’s ever missed anything, but at least he has his friend here, safe by his side.

As time goes by, Jaskier starts to spend more time with other Witchers. There are letters drawn on the floor of quite a few rooms now, more full words added so that it’s easier to communicate. Still, every night Jaskier returns to Geralt’s room and curls up with him. It soothes the Witcher.

Every morning he wakes up with a warm weight on his chest so the morning it’s missing, Geralt’s eyes snap open and he sits up quickly.

“Good morning, dear heart!”

Geralt freezes. He knows that voice. Jaskier. Very slowly, he turns in the bed and his eyes fall on a shirtless bard standing by the water basin, hair messy but eyes bright. His smile is lighting up the whole room and then Geralt is trying to get out of bed and Jaskier is running at him and they collide like that, Geralt still halfway on the bed.

“Jaskier,” he rumbles with his face tucked into the bard’s neck.

Jaskier laughs through the tears and tightens his hold on the Witcher. “Geralt,” he replies softly, lips brushing against Geralt’s temple.

They stay like that, both trembling a bit, clutching each other desperately, smiling through the tears. It’s the first time in his life that Geralt cries but those are tears of happiness and relief.

“I missed you,” Jaskier admits softly, voice still shaky.

Geralt pulls away to look at him, greedily drinking in the sight of his face, pink lips and messy brown hair. He’s even more beautiful now, absolutely ethereal and Geralt has never been more in love.

“I love you,” is what he says in return. He’s not sure where did the courage to do so came from, but he has Jaskier in his arms, blessedly human again and he doesn’t want to lose him again.

The bard’s mouth falls open, eyes wide in surprise. Jaskier stares at him for a second, eyes searching for something and when he finds it, he simply pulls Geralt into a kiss.

It’s not...perfect - Geralt doesn’t kiss often and Jaskier is two years out of practice but eventually, they find their rhythm, falling back on the bed, Jaskier perched in his lap, warm and alive. Geralt wraps his arms around him tightly and they get lost in each other.

“I love you too, dear heart, so much. For so long,” Jaskier whispers brokenly.

“Sorry it took so long,” Geralt mutters against his lips.

Jaskier just laughs and kisses him again, admonishment and forgiveness wrapped in one kiss. Geralt’s heart is full to the point of bursting, overflowing with love and relief, knowing he has Jaskier back.

He vows to do better this time, to treat Jaskier like he deserves to be treated. He knows there will be arguments and banter and petty fights because they’re both stubborn but somehow they overcame an unbreakable curse so nothing is impossible.

Geralt has never been an optimist but for once, things feel like they may work out.

He takes all of it back when he wakes up in the middle of the night, alone in his bed, with Eskel calling for him again. Terror grips his heart tight and Geralt sprints down the stairs once again, too afraid of even thinking what he may encounter there.

Once again, Eskel and Vesemir are standing in the kitchen, Lambert leaning against a counter as they all stare at the snow leopard sitting on the table. Geralt freezes, heart hammering in his chest, terror spreading through his body. Is this it? Did they fuck up again, is everything over…?

Just then the air around Jaskier shifts, flickers and in place of the snow leopard sits his bard, dressed in Geralt’s shirt and smallclothes, smiling sheepishly.

“Surprise?” he half-says half-asks, spreading his arms wide, head cocked to the side.

Geralt throws his sword to the ground and pulls his infuriating bard into a kiss. 

**BONUS:**

“You should be dead,” Triss says, surprise colouring her voice.

Those are never words one wants to hear but by this point, Geralt is just too tired to care. Jaskier is definitely not dead and he will stay alive if Geralt has anything to say about it.

“Pardon?” Jaskier asks mildly, leaning against Geralt.

The sorceress looks at him again, closes her eyes, opens them. Huffs.

“You spent over a year eating animals and plants that are infused with Chaos. Drinking the water, spending time near a Source. A natural Source, those are rare. And deadly. It should’ve killed you,” she explains. “Why aren’t you dead?”

“Sorry?” Jaskier answers with a question, trying for a charming smirk and failing miserably.

Triss sighs again. “Besides that, you should've lost yourself to animal instinct by maybe the second week of the curse. Why didn’t you?”

“I had to find Geralt and scream at him, didn’t I?” Jaskier puffs up. “No jealous hag would rid me of my right to scream at my best friend for being a dick.”

“You… You refused to submit to the curse because you wanted to scream at Geralt?”

Jaskier shrugs and kisses Geralt’s jaw, eyes soft now. “I needed to see him again. We parted with bad blood between us and I couldn't just leave it like that, could I? No curse or amount of Chaos could stop me.”

Triss and Geralt just stare at the bard in silence, but then Geralt just sighs and shakes his head fondly.

“Only you, wildcat,” he mutters, making Jaskier beam.

Triss shakes her out of her surprise and looks at them with a smile. “Well, since you did not die from the Chaos, your body soaked it up. I can’t say exactly what happened but you should have some amount of magic, and a longer lifespan. I’m not sure if that’s from the curse or the Chaos, but you are not human anymore. Not a shifter but you can definitely change shape.”

Geralt and Jaskier look at each other, the Witcher worried for a single second before a bright smile breaks out on Jaskier’s face. The bard cups Geralt’s face and kisses him sweetly.

“Hear that, my love? I’m not leaving you anytime soon.”

“Good,” he purrs possessively, turning the kiss deep and slow. He has a lot of time to make up for.


End file.
